The Raven: Prince of Iron and Blood.

Numeris Trys

All she could hear was the soft rustle of silks and the faint whistle of a kettle. The rich aroma of buttered toast and ripe fruit lingered in the air, wrapping her in warmth.

Her dreams were steeped in these scents: thick slices of toast dripping with melted butter, cotton and silk intertwining, strawberries bursting with sweetness, and the gentle rustle of her pillow. The crunch of pastries echoed in her mind, and the soft warmth of fur brushed against her cheek, a reminder of Enea's sticky red kiss.

She blinked open her eyes. Two blurry figures moved in a haze around her. Her cheek was pressed against a crimson cushion. Her mouth felt numb, as if she had forgotten how to speak.

"Good morning, sleepyheads!" Gabi chirped, her bright voice pulling Zariyah from the remnants of her dreams. She entered the room with a tray piled high with breakfast. The delicious aroma of buttered toast and creamy millet porridge wafted through the air, wrapping around them like the warmth of a hug.

Zariyah rubbed her jaw, which felt stiff and knotted. "I feel strange," she admitted, blinking away sleep.

"Would you like some tea?"

Her mouth was dry. She had slept with it wide open. There was even a patch of drool on the pillow. "Yes, please. Could I please have some honey butter biscuits?" Her stomach growled like a tiger.

Gabi bobbed and disappeared. Peter poured water into a mug and added the tea leaves, stirring to seep the leaves. "Here, my lord."

Enea stirred, blinking sleep from his eyes before sipping the tea. It was rich and soothing, a blend of malty flavours with a hint of caramel, ginger, and cinnamon. The warmth spread through him, comforting his empty belly.

"Do you still hear the voice?" he asked, looking at Zariyah.

Time had slipped away unnoticed. The gentle hum of the bird's winding mechanism, once lively, had settled into a slow burr.

Zariyah nearly choked. "No." She quickly cranked the key and removed it, watching as the bird clicked softly and bowed its head. Gulping down her tea in one swift mouthful, she sighed in relief; it had all been a dream.

Gabi opened the door, balancing a silver breakfast tray in one hand. "Honey butter biscuits, bread, and some coffee, my lady."

Enea and Zariyah dove into breakfast, their hunger ravenous. The biscuits were flaky, dripping with a spiced honey sauce that delighted their taste buds. The warm bread settled comfortably in Enea's stomach, and the rich coffee chased away the remnants of sleep.

"His Lordship is with His Majesty's Council now," Gabi informed them, her voice clipped with urgency. "I advise you to play outdoors in the rose garden today."

The golden bird sat silently in its corner, its work for the day complete, shimmering gently in the morning light.

Zariyah stood still, watching as her maids tugged and fitted her into a warm gown of gold, fastening a thick cloak of ermine around her shoulders.

"Go and play."

"When can I come back?" Zariyah clung to her brother's arm.

"You will see me tonight." Enea kissed her cheek. "No, go! Before Mother drags into duties."

"But, I don't want to," Zariyah protested, her voice muffled by the thick comforter she clung to. The room was cold and she could feel the warmth of her bed slipping away.

"You must," his voice was firm.

"Fine," she muttered, standing up and stretching, her feet landing inside the well-worn boots.

"Now, remember your manners," Enea said, adjusting the fur collar of Zariyah's cloak. "And no running in the halls. You're not a child anymore."

Zariyah rolled her eyes, but she knew he was right. With one last look back at the comfort of his room, she stepped into the corridor, the heavy oak door closing behind her with a solemn finality.

Gabi ushered her down the east corridor. She slipped down the stairs, her white-and-black speckled cloak trailing after her. The stairs coiled in a spiral down into the foyer. The walls were of granite, an ash grey colour. The colour of sorrow. Winter was a time of sorrow and death. For the fruit of Faryn were drawn back into the cold roots or shrivelled on the vine. Her fingers traced over the etchings fashioned into the stones. Runes. Symbols of an ancient language. Her mother had commissioned the stonemasons when constructing the estate, to line a strip of runes in every single room of the castle, reminding those who would live and visit the house to remember the virtues of Faryn: Faith, love, and loyalty.

The sound of a distant bell echoed through the stone corridors, and she quickened her pace, eager to reach the rose garden before the day's duties swallowed her whole. The stairs creaked under her feet as she descended into the foyer. The castle was a maze of corridors and hidden passages, but she knew the way by heart. The air was thick with the scent of pine and the faint whiff of burning candles from the great hall.

Her boots clicked against the cold stone floor as she made her way to the east corridor. The castle was eerily quiet. Usually, at this hour, the hustle and bustle of servants would have filled the air with the promise of a new day. But today, it was as if the very walls held their breath.

As she reached the door to the Garden Gate, the grandeur of the columns towering above her, frantic voices reached her ears, panic lacing every syllable.

"The Ravens have breached the southern border!"

"We are lost! We are lost!"

"The shadows have crossed the river!" one soldier exclaimed, his voice strained.

Zariyah's heart skipped a beat. Had birds ever dared to attack so close to the castle before?

When Zariyah asked what had happened, they cast frightened glances her way, their eyes wide with terror, and the soldier rushed past her, ignoring her entirely. The two maids curtsied and scurried away, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

The corridor grew colder, the warmth of the tea forgotten. She clutched her cloak closer and pushed open the doors, her eyes widening with disbelief. Servants were fleeing down the pathway, their faces pale and drawn, moving like shadows in a world that had turned suddenly dark.

The cool breeze kissed her cheeks, carrying with it the distant cries of the hall's inhabitants. The garden was a riot of colour, the roses in full bloom, their velvety petals swaying gently. Yet, the beauty did little to alleviate the tension coiling in her gut.

As she strolled along the cobblestone path, her eyes searched for any sign of trouble, her ears straining for the sound of battle or alarm. But the garden remained serene, the only noise the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional bird song. Her thoughts turned to the golden bird in her room, its haunting melody now replaced by the silence of a world that had gone to war without her knowledge. She wondered if it had been a prophetic dream, a warning of the danger that now lurked outside the castle walls.

A sudden clatter made her jump, and she spun around, her heart in her throat. But it was only a squirrel, knocking an acorn from the branch of a nearby tree. The little creature chattered at her, oblivious to the fear gripping her heart.

The sound of running footsteps grew louder, and she watched as a young page, breathless and wide-eyed, rounded the corner and skidded to a halt before her. "Milady," he panted, "you must come quickly. Her Ladyship requires your presence."

Zariyah's blood ran cold. "Is it about the birds?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

The page nodded, his eyes wide. "Yes, my lady. The council is in an uproar. The king...he's called for His Lordship."

Without another word, she turned and followed him back through the castle, her thoughts racing. What could the King possibly need her father for? They were just black birds, not a brood of poisonous vipers.